The Italian Girl

by Lucinda Riley

  She frowned. ‘Did he? What did he want?’

  ‘To go over my schedule for the next year.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I know you don’t like to think about it. Neither do I, but we must discuss the future.’

  ‘Roberto, couldn’t we just stay like this? We’ve been so happy. We have enough money, don’t we?’

  ‘Not to live for the next twenty or thirty years as we do now. Think of Nico. Surely we want him to have the privileges we never had as children – to attend the best schools? To travel? The bottom line is, I have to go back to work sooner or later.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Roberto watched his wife as she chewed a piece of lamb far more times than was necessary. ‘What about you?’ he asked tentatively.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Have you retired permanently from your career?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘Rosanna,’ he chided, ‘you must have thought about whether or not you wish to continue singing.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. For once, I haven’t worried about anything, except whether Nico’s nappy rash is clearing up or if he’ll sleep through the night. It’s been so perfect here, I haven’t missed singing at all.’

  ‘Principessa, you know that if you stay here with Nico, we’ll be forced into long separations.’

  ‘I know,’ Rosanna said. ‘So what you’re really saying is that I might as well resume my career because I shall be following you around the world anyway.’

  ‘My darling, neither of us wishes us to be apart from the other. What I was thinking is that we compromise. Covent Garden is now the house in which I feel most comfortable. So I could ask Chris to make sure that a lot of my work is based in England. Maybe six months of the year we can live here.’

  ‘And the other six months we will spend in hotels in all corners of the globe.’ Rosanna looked at Roberto. ‘Do you really think that can be good for Nico?’

  ‘Other children do it. He’s only a baby, cara. He won’t know where he is. And if his mamma is with him, he won’t care. We can even rent apartments instead of hotel suites when I have a long run somewhere.’ Roberto was pleading now.

  ‘But if I went back to singing too, then not only will Nico be in strange places, but he would have a stranger looking after him.’

  ‘We can find a very good nanny, I’m sure. Maybe even a private tutor as well when he’s a little older. And after that, there are scores of excellent boarding schools he could go to. Please, Rosanna, we’re not good when we are apart, you know that.’

  She picked up a piece of broccoli and chewed the end of it thoughtfully. Finally she said: ‘Roberto, I will try and explain to you how I feel. When I discovered I was pregnant, I was very confused, unhappy almost. My career was going well, I had you – I thought life was perfect. I wanted nothing to spoil it. And then along came Nico and, with him, a new way of life and a new priority.’

  ‘Then you’re saying you love Nico more than you love me?’ he countered.

  ‘Don’t be childish, Roberto. You know the love I feel for you is stronger than ever. But I have a different kind of love for Nico – a mother’s love. And a child needs routine. I don’t think it’s right for us to drag him around the world.’

  Roberto sighed. ‘Well, we have two months before I have to go abroad. Cara, I understand how you feel about Nico, but surely your career is important too? What will happen when Nico grows up? When he goes away to school? You will have sacrificed everything for him and will have nothing left for yourself.’

  ‘Roberto, please can we talk about something else?’ she begged. ‘Tonight I can’t cope with this conversation.’

  Roberto saw the anguish on his wife’s lovely face and nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I hate talking of it too. But please, cara, think of what I have said. We must make some decisions soon.’

  That night, Rosanna couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned and eventually she climbed out of bed, put on her robe and went down the corridor to Nico’s nursery. In the dim glow of the night light she saw he was sleeping peacefully.

  Rosanna sank into the nursing chair, pulled back the curtain and stared out of the window into the blackness. Why was life so complicated? All she wanted, all she loved, was under this roof. But very soon the components that made her so happy were going to be dispersed.

  The choice was almost impossible to make. She knew it came down to either her son or her husband. If she bowed out of her career and stayed here, which was what she was convinced would be best for Nico, then she would rarely see Roberto. However, if she decided to continue singing and travelled with Roberto, it would mean Nico would be deprived of his mother’s full attention.

  She knew she was lucky that she had the choice to stay at home with Nico if she wanted. Many women did not. But then . . . Rosanna remembered that dreadful month Roberto had been away in New York and how miserable she’d been.

  It was hopeless.

  Slowly, Rosanna made her way back down the corridor to her bedroom. Roberto’s arms encircled her as she slid under the duvet.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes. I can’t sleep, that’s all.’

  ‘Try not to worry. We’ll work it out.’ He kissed her gently on the cheek.

  Rosanna nodded in the darkness. ‘Whichever way, it seems I will lose,’ she murmured.

  31

  Four weeks later, Rosanna had still made no decisions about her future. Roberto, heavily involved in preparations for Tosca at Covent Garden, was as sympathetic and supportive as he could be.

  ‘I think you should come to the first night,’ Roberto remarked as they sat having breakfast, Nico gurgling happily in his baby bouncer at their feet. ‘If you come and see Francesca Romanos sing Tosca in your place, it might help you make up your mind,’ he teased.

  ‘You hope I’ll be so jealous that I will return immediately.’

  ‘Principessa, I miss you,’ Roberto entreated. ‘Francesca is technically very good, but she has none of the empathy that you and I share. You cannot blame me for trying to persuade you.’ He glanced at his watch and sighed. ‘Sadly, I must be leaving for rehearsals.’ Roberto stood up, then reached down and picked Nico out of the bouncer. ‘You be a good boy for your mamma and I shall see you later.’ He kissed his son, then relinquished him into his mother’s arms as they walked outside.

  ‘What time will you be home?’ asked Rosanna as Roberto slid inside his Jaguar and wound down the window.

  ‘Early enough to bath Nico,’ he said, smiling as he started the engine. ‘Please, cara, think about the opening night. It would be good for you to have a little time away.’

  ‘What about Nico?’

  ‘Rosanna, I’m sure there are plenty of young girls in the village who would babysit. Go and ask, or put an advertisement in the post office. Ciao.’

  Rosanna watched the car roar off up the drive. She carried Nico inside, put him back in his bouncer and cleared up the breakfast things.

  A little while later, she tucked Nico up in his pram and set off in the direction of the post office.

  When Roberto arrived home that evening, Rosanna handed him a glass of wine.

  ‘I’ve found a very nice girl to babysit Nico. The lady in the post office has four children of her own and said her daughter would be happy to look after him. So, I met her and I’m going to come to the first night.’

  ‘Wonderful! I know I’ll sing especially well if you are watching.’ Roberto stretched out his hand towards her. ‘Thank you, cara.’

  It felt strange to wear high-heeled shoes after months of flat ones, and even more peculiar to wear make-up, Rosanna thought as she surveyed her reflection in the mirror. The evening dress was one she had bought just before she became pregnant and she had been unable to wear it as her stomach had grown larger. Now it fitted her perfectly and she felt proud that her figure had returned so soon.

  She left the bedroom and went into Nico’s nursery. He was lying on the floor chuckl
ing as Eileen, the babysitter, knelt beside him and tickled him.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ Rosanna asked anxiously, for the umpteenth time.

  ‘Of course, we’ll be fine, won’t we, Nico? You go and have a lovely evening, Mrs Rossini.’

  ‘I won’t be later than midnight. His bottles are in the fridge and there’s a clean romper suit in his drawer. If there’s a problem—’

  ‘Ring the number on the pad by the telephone. I know,’ said Eileen patiently.

  Rosanna kissed Nico and went downstairs as the car Roberto had organised to take her to London swept up the drive.

  ‘I’m off,’ Rosanna called up the stairs.

  ‘Bye, have fun,’ came the reply.

  Two hours later, the car pulled up outside the Royal Opera House. Rosanna stepped out and made her way inside and up the grand staircase to the Crush Room bar, where she had arranged to meet Chris Hughes.

  ‘You look lovely, Rosanna.’ Chris kissed her on both cheeks and ushered her towards a table. ‘Here, have a glass of champagne to toast Roberto’s success and your return to the scene of some of your greatest triumphs.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rosanna took the glass. ‘It seems ages since I’ve been to London.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’

  ‘No, never,’ she answered honestly.

  ‘I’m sure it’s much healthier for Nico to live in the country. He’s a good kid, isn’t he? You’ve been real lucky with him so far, Rosanna.’

  ‘I know. They say an easy birth makes an easy baby and the hospital staff were so good. And Stephen too, of course,’ she added.

  ‘Stephen?’

  ‘My stand-in husband. He took me to the hospital.’

  ‘Oh, sure, I think I spoke to him.’

  ‘Did you? When?’ Rosanna shot him a surprised look.

  Realising what he’d said, Chris chose his words carefully. ‘When he called the apartment to say you’d gone into labour early. I heard the telephone ring first and went to answer it.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  He swiftly changed the subject. ‘Anyway, are you looking forward to tonight?’

  ‘I think so, but it’ll be hard to watch someone else singing with Roberto.’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Chris grinned. ‘You know, there’s no reason why you couldn’t come back gradually. Say, the odd concert at first, then a few days in Paris, for example. The offers are still coming in, Rosanna, but they won’t for much longer.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she sighed. ‘But Nico’s still so small. I need a little more time, Chris, please.’

  ‘I understand.’

  The two-minute bell rang. ‘Right, we’d better make a move.’

  Rosanna sat in the box beside Chris, drinking in the smell of the old theatre. She leant over the plush velvet rail and stared up at the saucer-shaped dome of the magnificent pale blue and gilt ceiling. A smile curved her lips as she reflected that in normal circumstances she would be waiting nervously on the other side of the red curtain, not admiring the architecture. A shiver of excitement ran though her as the lights went down and the orchestra launched into the overture.

  She watched as Roberto sang with Francesca Romanos, not even pausing for breath on the hard semi-tone lift during the Act One love duet. As he sang ‘Vittoria! Vittoria!’ during Act Two, Rosanna felt a tremor of emotion run round the audience. And after ‘E lucevan le stelle’, the audience rose to their feet, stamping and clapping for several minutes until the conductor raised his baton to begin again.

  It was then that Rosanna knew how hard it would be to stay away. All those years of dedication and training . . . how could she leave this world? It was hers as much as Roberto’s and part of their magic was being together on stage.

  Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched Roberto and Francesca take a five-minute standing ovation. She had listened to Francesca carefully, trying to spot faults. There were few. She was very, very good. She was also young and extremely pretty.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Chris as they made their way out of the box.

  ‘Depressed,’ sighed Rosanna. ‘I was hoping it wouldn’t touch me, but of course, it has.’

  ‘That’s good news.’ Chris led her into the Crush Room where a crowd was gathering for a champagne reception.

  There was a round of applause as Roberto and Francesca entered the bar. Roberto spotted Rosanna and made straight for her.

  ‘Principessa, did you enjoy it?’

  ‘I don’t think “enjoy” is the right word,’ grimaced Rosanna, ‘but you were superb, caro.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Chris, switching into full-on agent mode. ‘Can I borrow Roberto for two minutes? There’s someone over there I want him to meet.’

  Rosanna was left by herself as the two men made their way across the room.

  ‘Hello, Rosanna.’

  Rosanna turned to find Francesca Romanos smiling at her. As a performer, Rosanna respected Francesca, but she’d always found her somewhat frivolous as a person. Still, she knew when to give credit where it was due. ‘Congratulations, Francesca. I thought you were very, very good,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you. You don’t know what that means to me. I’ve always been a huge admirer of yours. And Roberto, as always, was brilliant. I think we sing well together.’

  ‘You do.’ Rosanna tried not to let her feelings show.

  ‘So, how is your baby?’

  ‘Oh, he’s fine. Thriving, in fact.’

  ‘And have you decided when you’re coming back?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I see. Is there a chance you might not?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ said Rosanna, growing more uncomfortable by the second.

  ‘It’ll be hard if you don’t,’ Francesca chattered on regardless. ‘I mean, letting Roberto go off by himself all the time. He’s such a charmer. He had a string of beautiful admirers queuing up in New York.’

  ‘Did he? Well, that’s nothing new. My husband is indeed a charismatic man,’ Rosanna said, trying to sound unconcerned, but already dying inside.

  ‘I’m sure you’re used to it, but the way some women throw themselves at famous men like Roberto would drive me mad. I mean, there was one in particular – Donatella, I think she was called – who just wouldn’t stop pestering him. I told Roberto he ought to be more careful. He should know better than anyone what gossip can be like, even though we all know it was innocent,’ she added cosily, winking at Rosanna as though they were sharing some private joke.

  ‘Of course. I’m sure it was. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find my husband.’ Rosanna knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t bear another moment.

  ‘Oh. Yes, of course. Goodbye, Rosanna . . . maybe I’ll see you later.’ Francesca looked petulant as the conversation came to an abrupt end.

  Rosanna didn’t care. She walked swiftly in the direction of the ladies’ powder room.

  ‘Donatella,’ she moaned as she locked herself in a cubicle and leant heavily against the door. ‘Why, Roberto, why?’

  ‘I want to go home. I promised the babysitter we’d be back by twelve.’

  Roberto looked down at his wife. Her face was pale, her eyes tinged with red.

  ‘But, cara, I have people I must see before I leave.’

  ‘Then I will ask Chris to drive me home,’ she responded tartly.

  ‘Rosanna, please, I . . .’ But she walked away before he could finish. Immediately, a conductor accosted him.

  ‘So, I hear you’re coming to Glyndebourne next year, Mr Rossini?’

  Ten minutes later, Roberto extricated himself to look for Rosanna.

  ‘Have you seen my wife?’ he asked Francesca.

  ‘Yes, she left a few minutes ago with Chris Hughes. I think she was tired.’

  A waiter appeared at his side. ‘Champagne, sir?’

  ‘Why not?’ sighed Roberto, grimly taking a glass from the waiter’s tray.

  Rosanna remained silent as Chris drov
e out of London.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ he commented. ‘Did it hurt badly, watching Francesca?’

  Rosanna didn’t reply.

  ‘You know that she isn’t a patch on you, honey. All the opera houses want you back with Roberto. Just say the word and I can start to book you again.’

  ‘I have Nico. He’s all I need,’ she replied robotically.

  ‘And Roberto.’

  ‘I think I must get used to being without him.’

  ‘So, you’re not going to return.’

  ‘No. Tonight has made up my mind. I am not.’

  ‘But can you and Roberto really stand all the separations?’ persisted Chris. He was, after all, her agent and no matter how much he sympathised with Rosanna’s predicament, it was his job to bring her back into the fold. ‘I mean, Roberto’s a very gregarious man. When he has you beside him, it’s all he needs. He turns up to rehearsals, has few temper tantrums and generally behaves impeccably. He’s altered completely since you married him and the change has all been for the good. Having you has allowed him to build on his fame. But it worries me to think of you at home while he’s away. Sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, but you must know he has this . . . this impulsive streak that he finds difficult to control when you’re not together . . .’

  ‘Like in New York, you mean? With Donatella Bianchi?’ spat Rosanna.

  Chris was silent. Eventually, he said, ‘I didn’t know you knew.’

  ‘I didn’t, until Francesca took it into her head to update me tonight. And thanks for confirming it, Chris.’

  ‘Shit! That stupid bitch!’ Chris banged the steering wheel hard with the palm of his hand.

  ‘Were they having an affair?’

  ‘Oh Christ, Rosanna, I don’t know,’ Chris groaned.

  ‘But you were there with Roberto in the apartment. You must have seen his comings and goings.’

  ‘No, really, I didn’t. I was away a lot.’

  ‘So, what about the morning Stephen called you? Did you answer the telephone because Roberto wasn’t there? Wasn’t there at five thirty in the morning as his wife was in labour?’ Tears pricked her eyes.

  ‘No, okay, he wasn’t there, but he could easily have been in a club. They stay open very late in New York and it was his last night in town.’ Chris steered the car off the motorway and headed into the darkness of a country road.